


Memories

by Syrum



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, Drabbles, First Love, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3366671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian ends up in an accident, hits his head, and due to the impact and the damage done forgets about the past six years of his life.  Cullen, unable to save him, is distraught.</p>
<p>A selection of drabbles that make up a larger fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came to me from a prompt I received on Tumblr, and from there it simply spiralled out of control!

They had been in Skyhold for a scant few months, and the repairs were coming along nicely, and although there was still much work to be done at least most of the holes in the roof had been patched up. The castle was still far from being warm, but at least it was dry, and spirits within the castle walls were generally high for the first time since their escape from Haven.

“It’s not so bad up here.” Cullen’s breath misted in the cold air, though the thick underpadding that he wore under his armour and the heavy fur about his neck kept much of the winter chill at bay, and what he could feel was dulled by a lifetime of Ferelden winters.

“No, not bad at all, for a half decayed ruin atop a mountain where the rain barely falls because it _freezes_ before it hits the _ground_.” Dorian shivered, his entirely fashionable attire doing nothing to keep the biting winds from freezing him through to his core. Really, he aught to find something more practical for the icy climate, but he had a certain image to uphold and he was not going to be caught dead in brown linen and fur.

“Not _everything_ is bad, surely?”

“True, you’re entirely acceptable, but everything else is terrible.” The mage sulked as they reached the end of their short walk - the Commander needed to assess the damage and the level of repairs required to a short section of the battlements, and as Dorian had been present in his office when the instruction had arrived, for entirely innocent reasons for once, he had deigned to gift the man with his presence.

“Well, that’s something I suppose.” Cullen sighed, leaning over the crumbling brickwork and prodding at a loose-looking stone with his foot. It fell, dislodging several more stones on the way down, and the Commander frowned slightly as he turned to make his way back to his rather warmer office.

“Do you think they might-” The blonde turned swiftly as Dorian let out a panicked shout, just in time to see the entire section the mage was standing upon crumble to nothingness below his feet, sending him pitching backwards off the battlements and down to the ground below. He reached out for something, anything to grab hold of, and Cullen lunged forward, almost falling himself, almost in time but not quite as the mage’s fingertips brushed against his own and he was gone.

Dorian was fast. In the heat of battle, none could chain cast spells as quickly as he, though as fast as he was it just wasn’t enough. As he fell, in the back of his mind the mage tugged at one of his well-used abilities, the tingle of magic running through him as the beginnings of a barrier shimmered around him, giving the appearance of a shimmering green hue as he impacted, hard, with the rock-strewn ground below. A sickening crack sounded across the near-silent courtyard and the mage lay limp and still, an ever-widening pool of blood visible to the Commander even from where he stood, staring down mouth slightly agape in a shocked and horrified silence.

“Dorian!” A choked gasp, and the man was running then, stumbling, the steps down just too far away and he needed to be at the mage’s side now, _now_ , almost falling but righting himself just in time, three steps at a time and his feet finally hit the ground, armoured heels biting into the dirt as he span around the corner and raced to Dorian’s side.

“Is he dead?” A small group of onlookers had gathered, none getting too close, and they backed off further still as the Commander arrived. Cullen barely registered them, falling to his knees by the prone mage, reaching out with trembling hands, wanting to pull the man to himself, to hold him and whisper to him and tell him that everything would be alright, but he knew he couldn’t. Dorian’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling shallowly, breathing wet and short.

Carefully, so very carefully, Cullen gathered the unconscious mage into his arms, knowing that it was dangerous to move him and yet also knowing he couldn’t leave him there. Dorian whimpered as the blonde moved to stand, the sound driving daggers into the ex-Templar’s heart, his own breathing ragged and panicked as he span on his heel. Blood soaked into the furs about his neck and shoulders, ran down his arms, leaving a trail of red in his wake as he searched desperately for the nearest healer. Finding none at the refugee camp, he made his way up to the main castle, the limp body in his arms seemingly growing heavier as Dorian’s life slowly ebbed away.

* * *

“Will he wake?”

“He should, in time. The head injury was severe, though, he may not be the same Dorian when he does.”

“Have you spoken with the Commander?”

“No, I thought it best for you to do so, Ser. He seems...attached to this mage of his.”

“I will speak with him. Thank you, for letting me know.” Lavellan bowed to the healer, blonde plait falling into his face, a concern frown marring his scarred features as he strode briskly towards the room housing the Tevinter mage.

* * *

Dorian groaned, rolling over in bed and pulling the covers tightly over his head. He ached, and his head felt as though it might split in two at any given moment. Too much wine pilfered from his father’s cellar last night, perhaps? It had been a good evening; Felix, along with his mother, had made an appearance, and with the Magister Pavus gone for the evening along with Alexius, it meant the boys had the run of the mansion. Their respective mothers had retired early to the west wing to catch up and discuss matters which concerned neither of them, which had left the wine cellar all but unguarded.

It had been an excellent evening, full of wine and chatter. Felix had brought a box of freshly baked treats from their cook, and Dorian did so love her cooking. In fact, he was certain a couple were left in the intricately carved box, and they would do to settle his food-starved stomach until he was able to face the journey down to the kitchens for something more substantial. Slipping one hand out from under the covers, he groped blindly for his night stand, certain he had left the box perched atop it. When his hand found nothing but smooth wood, the young mage peeked out from under the heavy covers, bleary-eyed. What he saw made him sit up far too quickly, a wave of nausea washing over him as his head span and panic rose to his throat. This was not his bed, and it most certainly was not his room. Gripping at his pounding skull, he glanced around the room, finding nothing at all familiar there, nothing that he might recognise as his own save a pile of clothes upon a chair which looked to be the sort of thing he might pick out, yet he knew he owned nothing of the sort, not yet.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The door had opened silently, without his noticing, and into the strange room stepped possibly the most attractive man the mage had ever laid eyes upon. “For a while, I was afraid I’d lost you.” The man smiled broadly, the scar upon his top lip twisting and stretching, brown eyes holding such a fond expression that Dorian’s heart seemed to skip a beat. A mass of curled blonde hair sat upon the man’s head, a mid-afternoon shadow adorning his chin and the mage could tell, from what he could see at least, that the man had quite the impressive build.

“Where am I?” Dorian’s voice sounded small, even to himself, and he scooted back a small way on the bed. The man took the opportunity to perch himself on the edge of the mattress, still smiling softly. It was almost enough to make him blush, and Dorian Pavus did _not_ blush easily.

“I’m sorry, love, you had to be moved to a smaller room, yours was just too far away from the healers. I know it’s not to your usual standards, but-” The blonde paused then, looking concerned. “Is everything alright, love?”

“L-love?!” The mage stuttered, and this time he most certainly did blush - who was this man, and how did he know Dorian? Who was he to use an endearment so easily, and where they might so easily be overheard?

“Maker, everything _isn’t_ alright, is it?” The man looked almost panicked at that, reaching out to take the mage’s hand, only to have Dorian pull away. “They said you might...Maker’s ass I wasn’t expecting this.” He ran his hands over his handsome face, taking a deep and calming breath before continuing. “Dorian, do you know who I am?”

“I haven’t a clue, I’m afraid.” The mage replied, carefully piecing his own emotions back together, steepling his hands upon his knees. “And I still have no idea where I am.”

“You’re in Skyhold, with the Inquisition, do you at least remember that?”

“The last thing I remember is getting rather spectacularly drunk in the parlour, and then waking up here.” Dorian replied, taking another glance around the room. “I’d suspect you think me someone else, and yet you know my name. So we can even the playing field at least somewhat, can you at least tell me yours? Or shall I continue referring to you as ‘the handsome blonde’?”

“I’m not sure you’ve _ever_ referred to me as such.” The man laughed, white teeth flashing behind full lips. “Cullen. My name is Cullen Rutherford, and I never dreamed I’d have to introduce myself to you a second time.” Cullen’s mouth twisted down into and unhappy frown, glancing away from the mage, hands in his lap.

“Well, Cullen Rutherford, I can’t say I know what’s going on, but can you please not wear that expression?” Back in control, Dorian leaned forward, ignoring the way his stomach churned at the slight change in position. Reaching up, he brushed the backs of his fingers down the blonde’s cheek and jaw, their eyes meeting. “You really are far too attractive to wear such a sad frown.”

“Dorian, how old are you?” Cullen blurted out suddenly, leaning into the touch as though grasping for a lifeline, and Dorian let him.

“What a strange question.” The mage laughed softly, moving back to his original position on the bed. “I’m seventeen, of course. I thought you said you knew me?” Cullen rose from the bed at that, scrubbing at his hair with his hands and pacing back and forth. Dorian watched his movements with some confusion, eyebrows knotted and lips slightly parted.

“Six years.” The man groaned. “They warned me there might be some memory loss, but...six years! Maker preserve us.”

“Cullen, please. You’re making no sense, and you’re starting to worry me a little.”

“I- yes, of course, I’m sorry.” The blonde resumed his place upon the bed, taking deep breaths as though trying to calm himself, when really Dorian should have been the one panicking.

“Start from the beginning, if you don’t mind.”

“You’ve been with the Inquisition almost half a year. We celebrated your birthday last month, in fact.” Cullen paused for a moment, worrying at his lip, a motion the mage found really rather endearing. “Well, you sulked about it, but Lavellan made sure you had a party for it - Maker only knows how he found out, you said yourself that you hadn’t told anyone when it was. Sorry, that’s not really relevant is it?”

“It’s alright, please continue.” The mage urged, listening intently. “Tell me about this Inquisition.” His birthday wasn’t for another three months, Dorian thought, so what had happened exactly in the four months past? No, that wasn’t quite right, the man had said he had been with this Inquisition thing for a year almost, which meant he was missing almost a year, if what Cullen said was true.

“It was forged by the left and right hands of the Divine, following her death at the Conclave and the appearance of a darkspawn Magister by the name of Coryphius. He intends to destroy all of Thedas, and opened a rift in the sky. We’ve been fighting demons and corrupted Templars ever since.”

“And you and I are..?”

“Complicated.” Cullen replied sombrely, not wishing to tag their relationship, knowing the implications of doing so to a man who believed himself to be many years younger than his true age and with a large gap in his memory.

“Complicated how?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed slightly, his disappointment palpable - of course, how could this be any different from any of the others? This was Tevinter, after all, and the dalliance of two men was seen as little more than a distraction, anything more was frowned upon.

“You were concerned, I think, about what they might say about the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces laying with a Tevinter mage. If there was anything beyond that, well...” The man shrugged, looking forlorn. “You never told me.”

“I- wait, Tevinter mage?” The roaring fire, the chill about the room, indeed it felt cold for the time of year, even taking into account the time lapse, but he had not considered that they might be anywhere other than Tevinter. “Where in the Maker’s name are we, then, if not in Tevinter?”

“Ferelden. We’re in Ferelden.” Cullen replied softly, and suddenly it made sense.

“I see.” Dorian glanced down at his hands with a frown. When he looked up again, Cullen was staring into the distance, something playing on his mind.

“A mirror, if you please.” The man hurried to comply, a hand mirror sitting at the other side of the room, quickly plucked from its place upon the table and placed in Dorian’s hands. The mage just stared; the visage that stared back was clearly his own, and yet so much _older_ , and where had that moustache come from? It looked good, but it wasn’t _him_ , not the way he was used to, not the way he remembered. His hair was about the same, perhaps slightly shorter, and with the close-cut sides that his mother so hated. There were the starts of crows feet around his eyes, and he appeared thinner than he ever had previously, cheekbones protruding more than expected.

“If I can get you anything, please-”

“Cullen, how old am I?” The mage’s voice had regained its initial quiver, and though he did not show it, inside he was entirely fraught. 

“Twenty three.” The Commander replied, plucking the mirror from Dorian’s hands and laying it upon the night stand.

“So that’s what you meant by six years.” He laughed, but there was little humour there. “I’ve lost six years, somehow?”

“I’m so sorry, Dorian. This is all my fault.”

“What do you mean it’s _your_ fault?”

“We were up on the battlements, it wasn’t _safe_ , and you fell. I tried to reach you, and I couldn’t, and there was so much blood...” Cullen trailed off, scrubbing at his eyes, breathing more of a hiccuping gasp and Dorian suspected that the man was trying not to cry. “I thought you were dead, I thought I’d _lost_ you, and now it looks like I truly have.”

“I don’t know you.” Dorian replied quietly, lips a fine line. “I don’t know you, and you expect me to believe everything you’ve said?”

“No, I-”

“I want to be alone.”

“Dorian, please-”

“ _Leave_.” The mage barked, and with some reluctance Cullen did, the door clicking shut behind him. It was only once he knew he was alone that Dorian scrambled out of bed, shivering in the cold air as he dragged unfamiliar robes over his limbs, muscles more defined than he was used to. Everything about his body felt wrong, and he knew he had to do something about it, starting with the one thing he could change.

* * *

The first time the Inquisitor saw Dorian without his moustache, he barely recognised the man. The elf stood and gaped for a while, before a loud exclamation drew the mage’s attention. Dorian had chosen to wander the halls of the castle, going seemingly ignored by most of the folk there, and clearly not in Tevinter as Cullen had stated.

“By the Creators, _Dorian_! Should you even be out of bed yet? I almost didn’t realise it was you.” The grinning Dalish had jogged over to the mage, earning a slightly confused look.

“You are...someone else I know, I take it?”

“Ah, right, Cullen mentioned the memory loss, sorry.” Lavellan rubbed at his nose sheepishly, and Dorian couldn’t help but find the man rather cute. “Inquisitor Lavellan, a pleasure.”

“Dorian of the house Pavus, though you undoubtedly already knew that.”

“You look...well.” The Inquisitor was still smiling, though it did not quite reach his eyes.

“I look old.” The mage snorted, looking away, uncertain about this new acquaintance.

“Actually, I was thinking how much younger you look, without that moustache and all. It’s just odd, not seeing it on your face. I’m not very good at this, sorry.”

“No, it’s...fine.” It wasn’t fine, nothing about any of this was fine, but it was at least better than crying in a corner somewhere, or lamenting his fate.

“Did you want me to show you around the castle, introduce you to the rest of our friends?”

“We’re...friends?” Surprised, Dorian’s dark eyebrows shot up, this day just got stranger and stranger.

“Of course, I’d have thought Cullen would have mentioned me.” The elf looked hurt, bottom lip sticking out slightly in a pout.

“He did, in passing.”

“Ah, good. He’s been so worried, you know.” The elf sighed softly, shifting closer so he could lower his voice. “I know you wanted to keep it secret, so I won’t say anything to the others, alright?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He did, of course, but without the memories to back up what Cullen had told him, he would rather keep things simple for now.

“Oh. Well. Shit.”

* * *

“So he has no idea about anything that happened in the past year?” Another tankard of ale was placed down in front of the Qunari, and he nodded his thanks to the girl.

“The past _six_ years.” Cullen moaned, his own drink barely touched. As much as visiting the tavern had seemed like a good idea, he wasn’t sure that the alcohol necessarily was.

“Shit, that’s bad. So he’s still basically a kid, then?” Taking another drink, Bull leaned back in his chair, watching the Commander stare holes into the table.

“Tell me about it, and yes, he thinks he’s seventeen.”

“That’s...kinda hot, actually.” His comment earned him a kick under the table from Krem, right in his bad leg, where it would smart the most. The smaller man said nothing, but his glare was enough to tell the large warrior that he had crossed the line.

“ _Bull_ , that’s hardly appropriate!” Cullen sputtered, looking horrified, finally staring up at his drinking companion.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes.” Bull shrugged and downed his drink, getting no argument from the blonde on his wording, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

* * *

“Cullen?” Four days had passed since the blonde had been ordered from Dorian’s temporary rooms, and in that time he had been introduced to almost everyone in Skyhold, including a very interesting spirit boy and an elven mage he didn’t particularly care for. He had been made to feel welcome, overly so, but it was still strange wandering about a place where everyone knew him, and yet he knew no one.

“Dorian!” The Commander stood swiftly from his position behind a large desk, papers littering its surface. He looked equal parts relieved and terrified, and as Dorian closed the door behind himself, he could see that the man was struggling with some internal conflict, fidgeting in place.

“This is your office?” He wandered around the room, noting the fine layer of dust with some measure of distaste, though he was pleased enough to find that the Commander was in possession of not one, but in fact several bookcases, all full to bursting.

“Yes, and my rooms are upstairs, it serves quite well.” Moving around the desk to remove the obstacle between them, Cullen leaned heavily against the thick wooden surface, remembering how he had stood in much the same place the day Dorian had first kissed him, pushing him back against the desk and stealing his breath away.

“You live above your office? Do you ever stop working?” The mage in question was looking at him again, curiosity evident, and it drew Cullen from his temporary reverie.

“Not particularly, no. You admonish me about it often enough.”

“Yes, I can imagine I would. I do so _hate_ being ignored.”

“That you do.” The blonde chuckled, and the room grew silent for a while, Cullen fidgeting and Dorian inspecting the titles of books upon one of the bookshelves in the room. “Would you care for a game of chess?”

“I’d like that, actually. Yes. It has been so long since I played someone worth beating.” A slight smile tugged at the corner of the mage’s lips, and he turned to give Cullen a warm glance. Without the moustache there, he seemed more open, earnest, and with a grin Cullen grabbed the chess board and pieces he kept under his desk, setting it up for them to play.

Much to Dorian’s dismay, Cullen won.

* * *

“You flatter me, Cullen.” Dorian all but giggled, placing his pawn as they continued their now daily chess match. Three months had passed and still Dorian’s memories showed no signs of returning. The healers were concerned that, with no memories so much as filtering through, the man may never regain the past six years of his life.

“I speak only the truth.” The Commander replied, his knight making its move. They were making the most of it, spending as much time with each other as Cullen was able, the mage secretly rather enamoured with the bashful blonde, though he dared not speak of it with Cullen. It still felt strange, knowing that from Cullen’s perspective they were still very much an item, and yet his only memories of the man were from the past few months. Some had tried to take advantage of that fact, trying to entice the mage into their beds, and on more than one occasion he had to admit he was tempted. He needed only think of the blonde, though, to bring him back down to earth; knowing that the most gorgeous man in all of Ferelden was waiting for him was enough to keep him faithful, even if he wasn’t entirely certain yet how he wanted to proceed.

No, that wasn’t right, he knew exactly how he wanted to proceed, he just wasn’t certain whether he _could_.

“Dorian? Are you quite alright?” Cullen’s concerned tone brought him out of his reverie, and the mage found himself, knight in hand, poised to make a move. He hadn’t realised he’d picked up the piece, and had no idea where it was to go, but for the first time in months he had complete clarity on what needed to be done. Standing, he dropped the chess piece and knocked the board thoughtlessly out of the way. One knee went to the edge of the Commander’s chair, pressed into the foam beside the man’s thigh, while both hands cupped Cullen’s cheeks. He paused for only a moment before leaning in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that sent sparks running through him.

Cullen hummed softly and let his lips part, the mage plundering his mouth with a tongue far less experienced than the one he was used to. Brown eyes slid shut and he let the younger man take full control of the kiss, the sensation a strange one without the usual tickle of fine hairs from the errant moustache. Hands found Dorian’s hips, and that was the only encouragement the man needed to climb into his lap fully, seating himself just as a lack of air forced them to part.

“I don’t know what we had before.” Dorian panted, letting the blonde nuzzle at his neck. “But I would like to find out what we have now. And I _don’t_ want this to be a ‘dirty little secret’. I don’t know why I felt the need to keep our relationship a secret before, and quite honestly I don’t care.”

“Only if you’re sure.” Cullen pulled back to stare up at the mage, though with Dorian’s arm looped about his neck he couldn’t move overly far.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything.” He was smiling, then, carding heavily jewelled fingers through soft, blonde curls. “In Tevinter, this would be seen as scandalous, particularly considering our status.”

“It’s a good thing we’re not in Tevinter, then, isn’t it?” The blonde chuckled, cuddling the younger man close. “I love you, Dorian Pavus.”

Dorian just hummed in response, letting the Commander cuddle him, nose buried in blonde curls as that now familiar musk assailed his senses.

* * *

“You know I’ve never done this before?” Dorian was spread out upon the deep purple comforter upon his bed, entirely naked, and with Cullen hovering some inches above him, also in a state of undress, though his smallclothes remained.

“We’re in the same boat, then - neither have I.” The blonde chuckled, leaning in to nip at the mage’s collarbone.

“We haven’t done this before, then?” His look of confusion was adorable, and drew a small chuckle from the Commander.

“No, we haven’t. My own fault, nerves I suppose.”

“Ah, I see. I had rather hoped that you would turn out to be the experienced older man.” The mage teased, running his hands up Cullen’s sides and making the other man shiver slightly from more than just cold.

“Less of the ‘older’, if you don’t mind. I’m not _that_ much older than you.” Dorian just snorted in amusement and pulled Cullen down fully for a kiss, the weight of the much broader man atop himself enough to make him wriggle and moan, his need very much apparent.

* * *

“Dorian?” They were curled up together, as they always did, furs and blankets staving off the encroaching cold of winter. Intimacy hadn’t been required that night, neither had felt the need, and the day had been long and arduous so sleep was already pulling at them both.

“Hm?” The mage was already half way towards slumber, the pull of the Fade near impossible to resist.

“Does it bother you?” He could feel Cullen’s breath upon his cheek as the blonde turned his head, one hand tracing circles over his back in soothing motions.

“Does what bother me?” Dorian cracked an eye open then, mild annoyance colouring his words from too little sleep the night before.

“The not knowing.”

“Sometimes, in the way that an unreachable itch might be bothersome. It comes and goes.” He fidgeted slightly, head upon Cullen’s shoulder and legs tangling together, the hand drawing upon his bare skin stilling so that the Commander might tug him closer.

“I see.” Cullen grew silent, from lack of anything else to say. Dorian simply hummed softly in his ear and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

“You know I love you, right?” Cullen looked uncomfortable, and that was never a good sign. Dorian frowned and placed a marker in his book before returning it to the small table to his right.

“You remind me often enough, Amatus.” Came the terse reply, as the Commander took the seat opposite.

“And we’ve been together for almost three years now.”

“The anniversary is next month, what is your point?”

“Well, that is, I...” Cullen stuttered and stammered, fidgeting for a moment, before pulling out a small and unassuming box and thrusting it at the mage. Dorian took it, flipping open the lid, and looked up, startled, as he realised what was inside.

“Are you asking what I think you are asking?” There was that slight waver to his voice that he so hated, the one that materialised whenever Dorian was unable to control his emotions, and at that precise point they were close to overflowing.

“If you’ll have me?” The small, shy, hopeful smile was enough to melt any man’s heart, and Dorian was by no means immune to the blonde’s charms, not that he particularly wanted to be.

“You are a strange man, Cullen.” The mage smiled, and then laughed, pulling the ring from the box and placing it upon his finger. “But you’re _my_ strange man, and I intend to keep you.”

“It’s a yes, then?” Cullen was out of his seat, grinning from ear to ear, and had pulled Dorian up with him. They stood, chest to chest, hands clasped together as Dorian leaned in and kissed his lover on the nose.

“Of course it’s a yes.” He could barely breathe as the blonde grabbed him about the chest, spinning him around with a whoop of delight, before capturing Dorian’s lips in a searing, soul-searching and most certainly loving kiss.


End file.
